I have wings
but they don’t help
and they don’t lift me off the ground
I choke on feathers
when the sound of silence
wraps me up in gauzy spiderwebs
and the voices in my head
have enough room to stretch out
relax, and tear apart the resolve
with their poison claws
I have wings
but they don’t help
I’m not immune to gravity
and I choke on feathers
while gravity pulls me under
The wind can run so fast that nobody can catch it
The clouds watch us like fish beneath water
And who am I to be angry at the sea that separates us?
When it pulled me under, it was only trying to take me to you.
Summer burns so hot that nobody can touch it
And who am I to begrudge the Sun, who smiles kindly down upon us?
When he lights up the sky, he is only smiling to see us together
Winter blows kisses that freeze the answering mouths
So cold that nobody wants to kiss it back
And who am I to shun the frost?
When it is only urging hands, pushing me into your embrace
And who am I, to be angry at the sea that separates us?
Your hands across my stomach
and how your lips track my bones
and your tongue unlocks the cage of my ribs
how you lie over me
you feel like a heartbeat
and your skin perfumes my skin
and your mouth assures my pulse
how we become one
and your scent wraps around me
and your taste never leaves my mouth
how the storm starts and the waves crash
and your warmth sinks into me
through my skin
and into my bones
I wake up in the morning and start planning our adventure.
You're still asleep; lying naked in bed, tangled in the sheets as the first light of day slips in through the curtains and caresses you. I look at you and colour blooms in my mind.
Blossoms; the pale pink is the colour of the sky as we set out on our ship, the light blue is the colour of the clear sea when we pull up on the beach. Red; the colour of your lips when I kiss them in the cold, yellow like the daisies I crown you with.
When you wake up, your skin is warm like solidified sunlight.
A hot air balloon printed with stars carries us up, up, up into the sunny sky. We can brush the clouds with our finger tips, pull it down like cotton, like cob webs; watch it dissolve like cotton candy in a wet mouth, misting us with cool water. I kiss the droplets of moisture from beneath your eyes.
A commandeered ship takes us home again; the sails billowing in the breeze, the water blue-black and swaying beneath us. The wood creaks; we're holding hands and looking over the edge. Beneath the water, we see the glint and shine of silver scales and if we close our eyes, we might hear the distant song of the mer-people down below.
Home, for now, is a hotel in the city with dark curtains and a window looking out onto the street. Home, for now, is the bed with crisp, clean sheets and the dark quilt. Home is your body warm against mine, and our arms tangled together, its our faces so close that our eyelashes could brush, its your lips and mine, for always.
I think that if I press my nose against the back of his neck
he might smell like the aged paper of old novels
the kind you run your thumb over just to feel how soft the page is
but I think instead he might smell like roses
deep crimson blossoms in full bloom
and spice, something I can't name
his eyes are like rain
like city lights in a wet dark city
and when he smiles
its like looking at a pink sky
its the circus
its warmth spilling into my stomach
The Valentine twins buy angel wings and run circles in the fountain at the center of town; water splashing around their ankles, their cheeks pinkened by the Sun. The stone Angel in the center of the fountain watches over them like a disapproving babysitter; her frozen smile does not reach her eyes.
One cannot be seen without the other, their hands are as interlocked as bones; to break them apart would be unheard of, and certainly painful.
There is a child thief in town, and the mothers all clutch their children close. The Valentine twins sleep at the old Circus at the edge of town; their tent tall and pink, the purring of the lions in their cages like a lullaby.
There is a man who lurks in the trees. A man with rounded fingertips, hungry silver eyes and bruise coloured lips. He watches the children play, eyes their life glowing inside of them like the first rays of the Sun as it rises. He licks his lips and he can taste cherry, blackberry jam, buttered bread. He can taste light.
He watches two boys running around and around in a fountain; their cheeks pink, the Sun shining off their white-blonde hair, reflected and glimmering in the water that splashes up around their ankles. They're older than they look and smaller than they should be but their life glows the brightest. He can see it, glowing through their chests and where their hands interlock, almost too bright to look directly at.
The children walk home when the Sun sets. As darkness blankets the town, strings of lights come on; lighting up the little square houses and the trees interspersed around the buildings. He cannot leave the coverage of the trees, for the smell of metal chokes him; so he drapes a coat of moss around his shoulders, the high collar carrying the dank, dark smell of deep forest. It trails behind him as he walks, following the children around corners and down quiet streets. No one notices him, except a few children, who point and tug at their mothers' skirts. But by the time they turn, he is already gone.
The children sleep in a pink tent with caged lions. One of them growls as he enters, its golden eyes on him, watching as he moves silently across the dirt floor. The twins are curled up together, facing each other, their small hands curled in front of their faces. He stands over them, and the lion growls again, rising onto its large paws. The sound wakes one of the twins; he opens his large, blue eyes and stares at him. In the candlelight, his eyelashes look almost black. The twin sits up, reaches for him like a child might reach for a parent, or the way someone might reach for familiar stranger in a dream; a look of awe in his sleepy eyes.
He takes the boys hand and helps him to stand. His skin is soft and warm from the embrace of his brother. He leads the boy through the tent and out into the dark morning. Stars shine like cold, cut glass in the sky. He leads the boy through the forest, where the trees tangle together like embracing lovers. By the time they reach his lair, the sky has turned a cool, pale blue, blushing orange at the horizon.
The entrance is just a hole in the ground; large and surrounded by dead leaves with nothing to hint at what may be inside. Total darkness, like an oversized rabbit hole. If he had not lead the boy here, the twin would never of found it at all.
He picks the twin up, holding him in his arms like a small child. The boy does not struggle, instead lies his head against his chest and closes his eyes. It feels like a dream, and it feels like he's flying when the man suddenly jumps into the large, dark hole. They fall for quite a long time, and when the twin opens his eyes, all he sees is darkness. But the man can see the walls of the hole, the crumbling dirt as it sprinkles the air. He can see the roots embedded in the thick dirt.
Then he hits the floor lightly on his feet, long dark hair fanning out around his bare shoulders. He falls into a crouch and rises with the boy still in his arms, head nestled against his chest. The room is circular and dark. A sconce dangles from the ceiling, held by dark chains, and in it a single candle sits, shedding its dim light in a wide spotlight. He carries the boy down a short, dark hall, lit ever few feet by similar dangling candles. At the end of the hall there is a large, circular room.
The floor is dusty here, and the walls are lumpy with clumps of dirt. There is a high-backed, black chair sitting atop a raised platform in the middle of the room, and beyond that is undisturbed darkness. The whole room is lit by warmly glowing orbs that float in glass jars stuck into the walls like precious stones. There are hundreds of them, and their collected light gives the room a dim glow.
He moves the boy in his arms, and the twin opens his eyes slowly, blinking up at the mans face, shrouded in shadows. The man places the boy on the floor and smiles widely down at him, a smile that does not quite reach his liquid-silver eyes.
The Valentine twin wakes up feeling cold. He wakes up feeling empty, a sick, grumbling, gnawing in his belly. He wakes up with stinging eyes and empty hands. His twin is gone. The lions are pacing impatiently in their cages, large paws padding silently along the metal. He looks at them, blinking his blue eyes. Where did he go? Something is wrong.
The Valentine twin stands up, he leaves the tent and circles around the back, slipping past trailers with dark windows and tents with blinking fairy lights strung up around them. He finds the pale blue trailer with the bright yellow and pink flowers beneath the little window. The door opens with a creak. Inside it is dark and it smells like powdered pastries. The twin walks silently through the darkness, past the little round kitchen table, to the dresser with the round mirror. Beside it, the lion tamer sleeps; just a dark lump in the blankets.
The twin takes the silver key from the top of the dresser and he leaves the trailer, back into the tent where he sleeps with his brother. He walks to the cage where the lions pace and they stop to watch him as he slips the key into the lock until it won't go anymore, then turns it with a click. The door swings open with a metallic squeal.
Tiberius hops out of the cage; he is a small lion, smaller even than his mother. His mane is short and his paws are large. The twin looks deep into his golden eyes and knows that Tiberius understands what he needs. He closes the door, leaves the key in the lock, and then climbs onto the lions back.
The Sun has just begun to rise over the city when they leave the tent, turning the cool blue sky a dusty orange and blushing pink. Tiberius runs them behind the buildings and houses. There is hardly anyone about yet; bakers up early to make their bread and venders setting up their carts, hanging up their beads and setting out their fruit. Whoever glances up toward the alleys and the cracks between buildings sees a small boy atop the back of a great cat. Then they blink, and he is gone.
The boy knows that his brother has gone some where far away, but close. Just beyond a veil, like stepping into someone elses dream. Tiberius takes them to the forest. He pads along the ground quietly, among the trees covered in downy moss and twisted together like dancers. The boy can feel him now, can feel the gnawing grumble in his stomach start to tighten and twist and roll.
A twinkling, like bells, fills his ears suddenly. They want him to turn back, want to carry him away like the current in the sea would carry him to the shore. But he ignores it, and Tiberius pushes onward even as an invisible force tries to carry them away again. Then it all stops. The bells quiet, the force ceases. They are standing before a large hole in the ground. A hole surrounded by dead leaves, with nothing but darkness to hint at what is inside.
The twin knows this is it, and that he must go alone. He slides off of the lions back and looks into his eyes before hugging him around the neck. Then he walks to the edge of the large, dark hole and looks down. There is nothing that penetrates the thick darkness waiting below, nothing to suggest that anything waits at the bottom. But he can feel his twin, feel the ghost of his warmth... And so, the Valentine twin jumps.
He is falling and he can see nothing that is around him, can feel only air making his pale hair fly around his face, air between his fingers, cooling his skin.
When he hits the bottom, it is with a quiet thud. There is hardly any light. The twin looks up at the flickering candle and blinks as his eyes adjust to the darkness. As he walks down the hall, there is a feeling beneath his skin and between his ribs, down into his stomach; like hundreds of moths are trapped there and are beating their wings frantically as they attempt to escape.
At the end of the hall is a large, circular room. The twin steps into it and the first thing he sees is a man sitting in a black, high-backed chair. He is beautiful, with long, shining purple-black hair and light skin; dusky in places with colour. His eyes are like the undersides of spoons, but darker and with a shine of irridescent colour.
The look in the mans eyes is one of shock, then silent rage. Then it clears, and he smiles slowly, poisonously.
“What has brought you here to me, little one?”
“My brother.”
The man smiles wider, tilts his chin up.
“Your twin.”
The boy nods, his gaze never leaving the mans face. The man stares at him a moment in silence. Then he raises his hand and waves at the surrounding walls.
The boy turns with the motion. Embedded into the walls are glass jars, and in the glass jars are little floating lights, glowing warmly. The twin knows that the man is still watching him, but he cannot take his eyes away from the jars. Even when the man speaks, his voice cool, the boy does not look away.
“Choose the right one, and you can have him.”
The twin approaches the walls. He stares at the glass jars, he even touches a few. Some are cold, and he knows that these are the ones that are already gone. Each jar is the same, each light glowing and hovering. The boy wanders the walls, staring intently, waiting for his twin to announce himself, but he never does.
Then he feels it. A tug, flutter of impatient wings in his belly, and he looks frantically around the walls. He can sense the man staring at him, can feel his liquid-silver eyes on his back. But he ignores it and he reaches out for a jar above his head, almost out of reach. He knows this is it; the moths trapped within him are fluttering rapidly, frightenedly. The light in the jar is brighter than the others; it glows a blushing pink-white-red. It is warmer than the others, too. The boy takes the jar down, dimly aware of the man leaping to his feet behind him.
“No!” There is a sound of cracking marble in his voice, of deep, cold stone, enraged disbelief.
The Valentine twin turns the lid on the jar and the light zooms out, alights onto the dusty floor and is still. Then it grows. It spreads, it takes the shape of a small boy curled up on the floor. It fades, until all that is left is his twin. The boy reaches down and takes his twins hand. His skin feels dusty, like flower pollen, and he smells like blackberries.
His twin looks dazed, as if waking up from a very long dream. He blinks, slowly, eyes hooded. But when his brother takes his hand, the expression fades and they walk forward together, their steps matching in time like they always have.
The man is watching with poison in his eyes, his lips parted and twisted. He watches them like an angry, caged animal. The boy thinks that he'd like nothing more than to claw at their throats with his long nails. But when the man reaches out, it is with a gentle touch that he brushes his fingertips against the boys temple, and then his brothers in turn.
The boy stares into the mans eyes and feels like an insect escaping from a spiders web, before the world around them begins to fade and the sensation of falling takes over.
Darkness is all around them. He feels his twins hand tighten in his as they fall and keep falling. There is a sensation of being lightly touched, sprinkled by dirt as if the walls are slowly crumbling around them. Then they are in the forest and afternoon sunlight flares around them.
The Valentine twins stand as one, hands still clasped together. Tiberius pads over to them, with his golden eyes on twin whom he'd watched being lead away in the early morning. He rubs his head against the boy and then crouches down.
The twins climb onto the lions back and he runs them through the forest, back to their pink tent at the edge of town.
I want to add your breathing to my nights
I want to acquaint myself your smell
I want to set to memory
the way your hand feels in my hand
the way your fingers look between my fingers
and how they fit like puzzle pieces
I want to trace unseen patterns on your skin
I want to build whole civilizations on your lower stomach
using just my fingertips
I want my breath to brush
the baby fine hairs on your stomach
like the wind dances through fields of flowers
I want my hands to leave warmth
where your skin was cold
I want your voice
in my head like a song
Long ago you were a Knight
with shining silver armor that reflected the sun
You stood by my side
I, a Prince in lace
You, stone-faced with a smile for only me
You were a Scholar
A Poet in golden sandals
And I your student
You held me in your golden arms
I kissed your throat with cherry lips
You were a faery of the forest
and I your friend
Your limbs long like tree branches
My hair braided with flowers
We made love amongst the trees
You were an Owl flying high in the sky
And I a Bear padding softly underneath
You told me of the stars
and I kept you safe in my furr
We traveled far and wide
You are kind and clever, a protector
Your embrace strong and warm
I am small and dark
I offer you my words
We lay and watch the stars
I don't have much to offer
But I'd offer you the world
put it on lay-away
Every deep Sea
Every glittering city
Every dusty little town
I'd offer you the very sky
barter with the birds and the bats
for the ever changing colours up above
I'd offer you the stars
and the planets that look like stars
and even the planets beyond the changing colours
I don't have much to offer
But I'd offer it all to you
There are things I like a lot more than sex
Things like; hot kisses
pressing me up against the shower wall
the way you look at me when the Sun sets
licking cold popsicle juice off your stomach
Delving into a really good book reading it all night
writing poetry about you
on you
walking my fingers up your spine and breathing in your smell
Living in trees
with stars above like spilt glitter
the in-between things
the things with you in my lap
warm and safe
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